This was a labour of love. I cried and laughed at the computer as I recalled my mother's anecdotes about my grandmother. Though I'd shared a bedroom with my baba, Lukia Mazurets (the protagonist in my biographical fiction) from the time I was a baby until I was fifteen, I never knew the hardships she'd faced.
I didn't know her as that much younger woman who'd survived not only wartime but life in a refugee camp with six children while her husband was fighting for the Tsar. She never talked about it. When I grew older, I realized she was like the men who came back from war and never mentioned what they'd experienced. To bring up what they'd gone through would mean reliving that heartache.
Her road was hard but I also discovered her joy and humour in the midst of the turmoil. And today, on Canadian Thanksgiving, I feel so thankful that I was able to bring her story to life.